


when the sun goes down

by orphan_account



Series: various drabbles [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Motorcycle Sex, Sappy Ending, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s fuckin’ dangerous is what it is,” Bucky mutters, disapproving eyes trailing down the length of Steve’s borrowed motorcycle.</p><p>Initially, he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of this mission; espionage wasn’t really his thing, and the other Avengers had told him none too subtly that he’s about as covert as an elephant traipsing through a china shop. They’re wrong, obviously, otherwise he wouldn’t be listening to his instincts and taking one of Tony’s bikes a few hundred miles into rumored Hydra territory.</p><p>He revs the engine before smiling up at Bucky. Hands worn on his hips, mean sneer pulling at his lips and his brow: Bucky is the picture of disapproval. It makes him want to go even more, but if Bucky tells him otherwise, Steve wouldn’t chance it.</p><p>Which is why he’s trying his best not to chance it. “It’s not that dangerous, Buck,” he says, brushing his fingers through his hair. “I’ll go slow on turns-”</p><p>“Bullshit, I’ve seen you flip your handlebars going five on a quiet day.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the sun goes down

**Author's Note:**

> I blame [Marie](http://bottomrogers.tumblr.com).

“It’s fuckin’ dangerous is what it is,” Bucky mutters, disapproving eyes trailing down the length of Steve’s borrowed motorcycle.

Initially, he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of this mission; espionage wasn’t really his thing, and the other Avengers had told him none too subtly that he’s about as covert as an elephant traipsing through a china shop. They’re wrong, obviously, otherwise he wouldn’t be listening to his instincts and taking one of Tony’s bikes a few hundred miles into rumored Hydra territory.

He revs the engine before smiling up at Bucky. Hands worn on his hips, mean sneer pulling at his lips and his brow: Bucky is the picture of disapproval. It makes him want to go even more, but if Bucky tells him otherwise, Steve wouldn’t chance it.

Which is why he’s trying his best not to chance it. “It’s not that dangerous, Buck,” he says, brushing his fingers through his hair. “I’ll go slow on turns-”

“Bullshit, I’ve seen you flip your handlebars going five on a quiet day.” Bucky’s eyes flit to his hairline and he groans. “You’re not even wearing a damn helmet, dumbass.”

It’s true, but he doesn’t really need one anymore. He’s about to tell Bucky that when he spots Natasha making her way across the hangar, passive indifference written all over her down to the grip of her hand around a knife.

She makes her way to them quickly, pausing only to dive down and slash at Steve’s back tire. “I don’t mind you going, but don’t put it on Stark.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before nodding her head towards the little collection of vintage cars and bikes from Steve’s era resting in the corner. “Take your own; Carter had them reallocated after the war.”

Steve watches as she starts off towards the collection before hopping off the bike and following her towards the Commandos’ gear. He can see his own old Harley, in all its glory, parked towards the back of the lot, and just beside it is a display of Bucky’s favored pistols during the war.

He can practically feel him buzzing from anticipation behind him, so he turns with a smirk.

“They’re dangerous is what they are,” Steve says, giving Bucky his best impression of Nat’s side eye.

“Fuck off,” Bucky bites back, but his lip is tucked under his teeth and his fingers are twitching. “It’s just a little appreciation, no harm in that.”

“Right.”

It gets him an eye roll before Bucky’s pushing past his shoulder and straddling his bike. Steve watches as his fingers trail down the steel of the handlebars, rub at the leather of the seat between his parted legs, squeeze the throttle and nudge the breaks.

He doesn’t notice Nat leaving the room, but can you blame him?

Bucky rubs at his chin as he stoops forward and scrutinizes the tires. It’s a nice gesture, but Steve’s not really getting anything out of it as much as he’s getting a nice look at Bucky’s ass, and as much as his khakis are getting a bit tight. He tugs at his collar and shifts his weight but it does nothing to alleviate his, uh, discomfort.

So, when Bucky turns his gaze back onto him, and smirks when he catches Steve’s probably flagged pants, he gives him the finger. “Can I ride it now?” he asks, carding his fingers through his hair.

“Depends,” Bucky replies, smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. “Think you can handle me?”

Okay, he _really_ can’t be blamed for blushing. So what if Steve is a little foreign to sex terminology. So fucking what if he still doesn’t understand that he can turn Bucky on just by looking at him the right way. It didn’t happen in the thirties or the forties, why should he be expecting it now?

He swallows and nods. “’course I can, punk.” Jesus Christ, he doesn’t know how to do this.

Bucky shifts back in the seat until his ass is resting on the chamber and his arms are clutching the belt slung over the seat. He raises a brow before squirming a little, legs spreading minutely wider as he glances up at Steve from under heavy lashes.

“You gonna show me?” he asks, and that’s all the motivation Steve needs to cross the room and straddle the seat, hands tentatively settling on Bucky’s knees.

It’s awkward as hell, but Bucky knows what he’s doing. At least, he knows more than Steve does. Not that he’s a virgin _per se_ but blowjobs and rushed hand jobs in filthy tents with bombs going off less than fifteen kilometers away doesn’t really demand finesse. The class and security of Stark’s mansion in the twenty-first century to boot, however, does.

Hesitantly, he ducks down and brushes his lips over Bucky’s. It’s soft, it’s too soft, and he can feel Bucky’s fingers sliding into his hair and tugging him back in, can feel his tongue sweeping over his lower lip and opening his mouth. Steve’s eyes flutter shut at the first touch of it against his own; soft, languid, but heady. Interested.

He lets himself be maneuvered this way and that, lets Bucky pull him into his lap and tugs his legs around his waist. The arch of Bucky’s cock presses into his hip, warm and long and curved just right, and Steve startles a bit at the clenched off groan punching out of his lungs.

Bucky just looks aroused.

“I don’t- er, I don’t really, uh, know-” He cuts off on a moan when Bucky’s hand presses against his crotch, buries his face into Bucky’s neck and bites to keep the sounds at bay. “Oh, God.”

Bucky’s chest rumbles with a laugh and he retracts his hands to nudge Steve’s face away. “You need somethin’, pal?”

It’s all Steve can do to nod. “You,” he murmurs, when he can manage.

He really does try to keep the noises stifled or at least quiet, but Bucky’s hands are amazing and his mouth is even better. He peppers kisses down Steve’s throat, pauses at the juncture to suck a bruise into the tender skin that’ll be gone by the time their done. Steve tells him as much, and Bucky bites the mark with a muttered, “it’ll stay longer,” before moving his ministrations towards the, er, problem in Steve’s pants.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to tug Steve’s khakis so they’re bunched around his knees, but they have to move a bit so he can kick them off, along with his boxers, so he can scramble back onto Bucky’s lap. He’s already gotten his cargos down his thighs, and he’s got a hand wrapped around his cock, slowly tugging it until it stands proud against his belly, and he just smiles at Steve when he catches him staring.

“See something you like?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

Steve nods. “You?” he replies, catching the way Bucky’s eyes trail down his open shirt and linger where his dick is curling up towards his hip. “You having some breathing problems? Should I call Bruce?” He says it all with a smirk, only letting it grow when Bucky’s eyes darken and he makes a noise dangerously close to a growl.

He grins even as he crawls back onto Bucky’s lap, and with some confidence from god knows where, takes Bucky’s hand and drags it up to his lips. He keeps his eyes locked on Bucky’s face even as he’s taking his first two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them for a good minute before dragging them back between his legs and poising his first finger against his hole.

“C’mon, Buck,” he mutters. “I don’t want to do all the work.”

And then, there’s a finger in him. It’s not anything foreign, Steve’s not so innocent as to have never tried fingering himself, but he’s never actually _been_ fingered. Bucky is slow with it too, only working in the first finger to the knuckle when he’s sure Steve is ready to take it, and when he adds a second, he keeps a hand on Steve’s hip, pressing soft kisses along his jaw as he slips in another, and only when Steve’s panting Bucky’s lips come to his ear. “Ready?”

He answers with a kiss, and reaches down to touch Bucky with a little more confidence before nodding his head, “Yeah, where do you want me?”

“Right here,” Bucky replies, spreading his legs a bit wider before hauling Steve flush against his chest and grabbing his cock. “It’d be easier if you were facing away.”

“I want it this way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Steve mutters, kissing the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “I’m fucking sure.”

It’s not as awkward as he would have thought. They slip around on top of each other until they find a spot that works, and Bucky aligns himself with one last nervous glance to Steve. In reply, he rolls his eyes and pushes his hips as far down as he can go before the sting gets to be a bit too much, and then Bucky’s arms are holding him where he is, waiting until some grimace fades from his face before he’s pushing his hips up.

And… and it’s not bad.

Steve’s never really had someone in him, or even been in someone, but if this is how it is, he’d like to do it again and again, if he could have his way. Bucky’s face is relaxed in a way that it hasn’t been since Steve found him, since he left for war, and he’s so gentle, rubbing his hands over Steve’s body like it’s something precious.

When Bucky hits this spot, Steve cries out. It’s not that he hasn’t heard about it from the studios in DUMBO back during the Depression; the men at the queer bar on fourth would tell him it was something religious. They hadn’t been wrong.

Steve curls into Bucky’s chest and hisses as he changes the angle, pushing against that spot and wrapping a hand around his cock and kissing and touching and it’s all too much. He’s burning from the inside out, black spots swimming in his vision as he gyrates downwards to meet Bucky thrust for thrust until he’s groaning and spilling over Bucky’s chest with a shout of his name. Bucky, meanwhile, strokes his hands down Steve’s back, slows his pace and kisses at his lower lip.

“That’s good, Stevie,” he murmurs into his hair. “You’re all right.”

Steve can’t even nod, so he just breathes, hoping it sounds content. This is what the army men had called ‘fucked out’ and he finally understands why they’d called him and Bucky the sex hair twins. He opens his eyes to find his fingers twisted in Bucky’s still long hair, feels Bucky’s artificial fingers stroking along his scalp.

“Fuck,” he says.

Bucky just grins at him in response before he groans. Steve shifts in his lap, and it just gets him another groan. So he tries it again, and again, and again until he’s bobbing up and down along Bucky’s cock, grinning ear to ear as he watches Bucky’s face phase through amusement, pleasure, and something a lot like happiness.

He comes with a shout, fingers scratching and pulling as he shoots off into Steve. It’s a weird feeling, but not too unpleasant. Bucky’s expression is one of pure bliss, and Steve just doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s kind of gross. He waits until Bucky’s breathing slows back to normal to push off of Bucky’s lap, a droplet escaping his hole and dripping down his leg. He wrinkles his nose.

“I need a shower.”

Bucky just snorts in reply. “So do I.”

Steve bends to retrieve his pants and boxers before casting a glance back at Bucky. His eyes are averted from Steve, his fingers working to button up his cargos as he tries to hide his blush under his shaggy hair.

He pulls on his boxers before walking over and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. “That was nice,” he murmurs, kissing at the space behind his ear. “I liked it.”

“It was your first time.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question, so Steve just nods.

“I know,” he replies. “And I’d really, uh, like it again if you don’t mind.” And again and again and again, if he’ll have him.

Bucky doesn’t respond for a minute, but his hand comes up to stroke at Steve’s wrist before he says, “I’d like that.” Then he’s turning in Steve’s arms and taking his face in his hands and pushing their lips together and it’s amazing. Steve barely has time to register he’s being kissed before Bucky’s pulling back and ruffling Steve’s hair with a tiny smile. “Go take a shower, punk.”

Steve watches wide eyed as Bucky spares him one last smile before he’s turning and leaving the hangar and going into the tower. He doesn’t really even register putting his khakis back on, or telling Nat and Thor that yes, he and Bucky did fuck in the garage and no, he doesn’t care if Tony will forgive him or not.

He’s halfway into the bathroom when he realizes that that’s probably the first time in seventy years that Bucky smiled like that, so open and trusting and loving. It’s probably the first time in seventy years he felt comfortable enough with someone to do so. And that… Steve doesn’t know what to do with that.

But when he’s climbing out of the shower and pulling a razor to his cheek, he sees that he’s smiling for the first time in a while too. And maybe, for the first time in a while, he’s okay. They’re okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is the first time I'm naming one of these drabbles after a remotely modern song and I'll take this opportunity to say that I'm big on Arctic Monkeys and I'll probably write something about these losers going to a concert in a shitty venue where they're playing and falling in love and blah, blah, blah. 
> 
> Otherwise, I'm always open for prompts; message me at [my tumblr](http://buckybaarnes.co.vu/mssg) if you want to see anything written.


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